Poetry: September

by Keeley Teslik

There are mammoth sunflowers
growing old against the courthouse.
Two girls in creamy sundresses
measure their heights
under the dripping petals
and laugh cautiously
when they realize how small they are,
inferior even to dying flowers.

The sundress girls tilt their heads.
The backs of their skulls
kiss the tops of their shoulders,
and they spin in slow circles
until their mother calls them along.

They slouch as they leave,
the girls and the flowers,
with chins to chests
and petals to spines,
and the weight of the ends of things
upon them.